Follow the journey of our sweet little micro-preemie Thurston........
When he shall die
Take him and cut him out in little stars
And he will make the face of heav'n so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
~William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

About Me

I am a stay at home mom and aspiring vintage seamstress interested in preserving and bringing back vintage fashion through the use of antique patterns. My years of interest include the Edwardian era through the mid 1930's.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

And on the third day, he rose again.......

I am not a religious person. I was raised catholic and started questioning everything during my teenage years and eventually, by my early twenties, pretty much eshewed the idea of a God. I guess if I had to classify myself I am kind of like an athienostic or and agnathiest with a little bit of paganism and humanism sprinkled on top. I don't want to get into to much detail but basically I believe that all peoples religions are valid. I get upset when one religion basically says that people are going to hell or are not going to be saved if they don't believe in such and such. It cracks me up even more when certain belief systems have different sects or offshoots and even if their basic beliefs are the same, those that are fundamentalist within those sects believe that only THEIR particular breed of that religion is going to be saved. Religion baffles me, but I respect every ones right to choose and believe what they want and as long as people are ultimately good and help one another, create laws that are equal and just and fair for everyone, and treat one another how you yourself would want to be treated, that is what is most important in this life.

Anyway, my son is a true miracle. He was supposed to die inside me, die in the first day of life, but was proving everyone wrong as he was doing pretty good by day three, or so I thought. I was in the hospital room feeling actually pretty good about our situation. So far Thurston seemed stable and I was making a lot of milk and I felt like hey, how bad could this be. No one told me about the roller coaster that was to ensue. One of my friends who visited me in the hospital thought I might be in a bit of shock still, "no way" I told her. "I feel great"(morphine + shock+ post partem = complete and utter denial).

I had just finished pumping milk and was going to walk down the hallway to the nicu to deliver it to my son. I was sooooooooooo proud of myself for keeping up with the supply. Right before I was going to get out of bed, the Nurse Practitioner walked in the room. Again with those damn eyes....I'm telling you doctors need to take an acting class so they don't give away everything on their face alone. Breathe Donna breathe.......I am so sorry to tell you......breathe Donna breathe......that your son has just coded.......vomit Donna vomit.....and that we were reviving him for almost 10 minutes.....hes dead hes dead Donna......and right now he is in stable but critical condition and we are just not sure how he will do throughout the night..........

NOOOOOOOooooooOOOOOOOOOoooooooOOOOOOOOOOo..................I cant take it anymore, call Chad, get me out of here, I cant believe it, how could a small baby undergo anymore stress, anymore oxygen deprivation, anymore.....nooooooooooooooooooo I cant breathe, get me out of here, what the fuck is going on, who am I , call Chad, I cant breathe.......I called Chad hysterical again. He couldn't understand anything I said outside of get to the hospital. I told him I couldn't stay there anymore. I needed to be home with Viola. I just couldn't take one more piece of shit bad horrible painful fucked up crappy news. What in the fuck is the universe doing to us. I felt like a pack of wolves ripped me apart, tore and shred me into tiny pieces, and left me for the crows, what in the hell was going on here.Chad finally got to the hospital and we packed up everything. I actually don't even know if we went to see Thurston it was such a blur. All I know is that when I finally got home, I ran upstairs where Viola was sleeping and stared at her for hours, motionless, tears running down my face, wondering why me, why us, why my poor sweet little son....

And so on the third day my son rose yet again, almost exactly 72 hours after he was born. The symbolism is not lost on me, the irony staring me right in the face, was there a God beckoning me, mocking me, what.......at that point, I so wished I could believe in something, something that could get me through this horrible situation, it felt so devastating; isn't that how other people coped during a time of crisis, didn't they cling onto something ethereal, otherworldly, all powerful? In any case, I needed a huge dose of hope, where could I find that in such a dismal situation, is anyones guess....